Godstone School for Boys
by TuesdayNovember
Summary: When Ralph's school is bombed, he is sent to another - Godstone - in the country. Here, he meets the other boys from the island, and the action that would have taken place there is moved to the strict confines of a Catholic school. Implied Jack/Roger.
1. Destruction

**I've begun a new story! I'm just testing this out, and I mightn't continue, because as it is, I'm really not sure where this story is going. If you particularly like it and think I should continue, tell me, please! =)  
Enjoy!**

Upton was bombed sometime last night. When I came down this morning my mother was reading a telegram from Headmaster Sharpe.

"Ralph," she said, "I got a telegram from the Headmaster. The school's been hit. It happened last night," she shook her head in dismay, "You're going to be sent to the country, to another school, until it's safe for you to come back,"

When she told me, I thought I recalled having felt a tremor in the night, but it may have just been my imagination. We don't live particularly near to the school. I wasn't sure what I really felt when she told me about the hit. Part of me was almost happy – I wouldn't be going to school for a few days, that was certain. But I couldn't deny the fact Upton was like a second home. I prayed the damage wasn't too extensive.

My mother engulfed me in a monstrous hug, "Oh Ralph..." she began, and then spoke for what felt like years about how we should have been evacuated when the war began. It was too late now, I realized. Should anything happen, there would be no way out.

It wasn't until the following Sunday that we got word of the schools we would be going to until Upton was restored. Headmaster Sharpe's second telegram was even briefer than the first. It said,

_Your child to go to Godstone. Stop. Classes begin on Monday. Stop. _

I stared at my mother, "_God_stone?" I asked.

She nodded, "Yes. Yes, that's somewhere out in Surrey. Near where your grandmother lives," she informed me, "Classes start Monday, you'd better pack your bag,"

I presumed Godstone was, like Upton, a boarding school. At Upton we came home on weekends and holidays. I found myself wondering when I would be coming home from Godstone. Perhaps I would stay with my grandmother.

I packed my bags slowly, paying more attention to what I would be bringing than usual. I managed to finish in time for dinner. Leda, our cook, made my favourite as a sort of going-away present. I would be leaving for Godstone by train in the morning.

I slept fitfully. I think part of me was anxious about the new school. I didn't know who else would be going there that I knew. I hadn't had a chance to see any of my friends since the morning. The bag I had packed lay dormant at the foot of my bed, mocking me with its troublesome presence. I really didn't understand the sense of foreboding that made a knot in my stomach and prevented my eyes from closing until past midnight.

I awoke early the next morning. Enid, the maid, rapped on my door before the sun had crept over the horizon, urging me to get up. I didn't have a Godstone uniform; I only had the one I wore to Upton. Was I to wear that? I must have stood about in my pyjamas for a long time before finally deciding to put it on, because by the time I got downstairs my porridge was cold. I prodded at it listlessly. I didn't eat much, I hated cold porridge. When Leda came out of the kitchen, she saw that I hadn't eaten, and with an annoyed, "tsk," and a shake of her head, she re-entered the kitchen, to return with a handful of out-of-season berries.

"Can't have ye going to yer new school on an empty stomach, can we?" she said as she gave them to me. The berries were sour, but I ate them anyway.

My mother didn't come downstairs until it was nearly time for me to leave. She met me at the door, bidding me farewell with a hug that lasted too long and a shower of tears.

"Oh Ralph," she murmured into my head, "Be good, sweetie. Be safe. Be _careful_," When I finally managed to extricate myself from her arms, she informed me that she had called a cab to take me to the train station. She straitened my tie and fussed over the state of my hair, while asking a thousand questions to make sure I had everything I needed.

"Do you have the ticket?" she asked.

"Yes, mother," I told her.

"Alright," she smiled sadly and hugged me again, "I'll see you soon, sweetie. Have a good time there,"

The cab was parked just outside the gate. The driver helped me with my bags and asked where I was going. I told him, explaining about the school. He nodded and made a few comments about the bombers and the war, before falling silent.

The train station wasn't particularly crowded, likely because it was a Monday. I thanked the cab driver and headed inside, inquiring to the stationmaster as to where I could find my train. He pointed me towards the far end of the track, telling me it would be there in a few minutes, and that I'd better hurry if I didn't want to miss it.

I didn't miss the train. I got on and walked hesitantly down the aisle, looking for a free compartment. Most of the people in the cabins were old ladies, wearing hats and clutching at purses. They smiled at me, some even offered a seat, but I didn't want to spend the ride down with them, so I declined. I did see a few other boys, some my age and some younger, but they were all together, and I didn't dare sit with them. Eventually I found a free compartment, and settled myself in, sliding my bags up top. I stared out the window for a bit, before my reverie was interrupted by someone wheezing, "Excuse me? Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

I turned around and found myself looking at a particularly chubby boy with glasses, not wearing any uniform. His accent was so absurd it took me a moment to decipher what it was he was saying. When I caught on, I shook my head and let him in.

"Hi," I said.

He fairly beamed at me, "Hi, what's your name?"

"Ralph," I told him, and then returned to staring out the window. The train had begun to pull away, and I wanted to watch the scenery go whizzing by. I had always enjoyed that.


	2. A Trip

**Well, that took a hell of a long time but here it is, the second installment! =)  
Just so you know, a lot of details from this story were taken from Nigel Williams' 'Acting Edition' of _Lord of the Flies_. So schools, surnames and such aren't of my making, but of his. **

**Hope you like it! (And if you do, review! =D )**

Trees and houses gave way to rolling hills and farms as we were driven farther into the country. The boy beside me seemed to be babbling senselessly the entire time. I learned to tune him out, since most of what he said didn't require a response.

"Excuse me?" he tapped my shoulder gently. I think I might have jumped at the sudden contact. I turned, as if just waking, and looked at him, "What did you say your name was?" Though it sounded more like "Wot did you say yo' nayyme woss?"

"Ralph," I told him again. Before I had a chance to turn back to the window, he said, "I don't care what they call me, so long as they don't call me what they used to,"

This piqued my interest, "What did they used to call you?" I asked, leaning forwards.

He looked at me, as if only seeing me for the first time, "Oh... I can't tell you,"

"Come on, please?" I asked. It probably wasn't even anything interesting, but I didn't like it when people withheld information.

He looked around, as if scanning for unwanted ears, then leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "They used to call me...Piggy," he lowered his gaze ashamedly.

I grinned in spite of myself, "Piggy?" I said gleefully.

His eyes widened in fear, "You mustn't _tell_ anyone!" he cried.

I sighed, "Alright, I won't," I smiled, "Piggy,"

He chuckled weakly, and I turned back to the window, a tiny smile dancing on my lips. Piggy continued talking after that. I think he said something about sundials, and how to make a fire, but for the life of me I couldn't understand how he had got on that topic.

I didn't know how long it would be until we got to Godstone. Piggy knew, and I think he might have told me, but I wasn't really paying attention. I saw a few people getting on during the stops. There were a lot of old ladies and a few children with their nurses. I saw some boys of our age as well, but none came to sit with us, though I halfway wished they would. Perhaps then I would have someone better than Piggy to talk to.

The train chugged to a grinding halt again, and I heard Piggy say, "This is where we get off, Ralph,"

I pried myself away from the window and took my bags down from overhead. I got Piggy's down as well, because he seemed to be having trouble with them. Hauling the bags after us, we walked down the length of the train and out into the light. I coughed, inhaling smoke from the train, and put my bags down.

"Which way do we go?" I asked him.

Piggy looked around helplessly. Some distance away I saw a man holding a sign. _"Displaced Students for Godstone"_ it said. I nudged Piggy, and we headed off towards him.

When we reached the man, a humourless-looking giant with a megaphone, there were already a number of boys there. I looked them over. Most were younger than me, little kids of maybe six or so, but there were a few of my age. Seeing them, I wished Piggy would just bugger off; how was I to make any friends with his hanging around all the time? I halfway wished I could just tell him to go away, but I couldn't.

One of the boys of my age made his way over to where I was standing,

"Hey," he said casually,

I smiled at him, "Hi,"

"What's your name?"

"Ralph," I said, "What's yours?"

"Rupert," he said pleasantly. He eyed my uniform, "Upton, eh?" I nodded, "I know a boy that went there," he told me, "William Sheppard?"

I grinned, "Fourth form, red hair?"

"That's the one!" We laughed, relishing in our mutual acquaintance.

"Where do you go?" I asked.

I never received an answer, because the man with the megaphone began talking,

"Boys," he boomed, "You all know why you're here, and I don't have to tell you twice that the world is a dangerous place. You're all here for your protection and - " a young boy began to cry. The man gave him a fearsome look, "What's your name, boy?" The child snivelled and looked up at him silently. "I asked you a question, boy. What's your name?"

The boy whimpered then said, "Percival Wemys Madison, The Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony - "

The man cut him off brusquely, "We don't need your family history, boy," He continued from where he was, "You're here for your protection, and you'd best better behave. I'm going to take attendance, so I need you to be quiet and pay attention," he told us, and began listing names. I tried to pay attention, but the hum of activity around us was too much of a distraction. I watched women's skirts swirl lavishly around their knees, saw children run, shrieking, into the arms of their mothers, saw sharply dressed men walking briskly down the platform -

"_Ralph!_" Piggy hissed, poking me viciously, "They called your name, I think,"

The man called my name again, un-amused.

"Present," I said.

"Pay attention, boy. We haven't got all day," he reprimanded me sharply.

Knowing I wouldn't be called again, I let my mind wander. When the crowd of boys began walking down the platform, I followed, taking in the sights of the train station. Still used to the fluorescent haze of the station, I squinted at the sudden brightness of daylight that almost blinded me as we went outside. We were brought to a halt a few meters from the station's door, and the man with the megaphone addressed us once again,

"We've chartered a bus for you," he said, "It should be here in a few minutes. Until then, I don't want any of you wandering around. Stay here until the bus comes, because I won't be taking attendance again, and if any of you go missing, it'll be your own faults," He told us coldly, moving a few steps away to talk to someone on the street.

I looked around to find Rupert, but he seemed to have found other friends to talk to. Seeing no other options, I turned to Piggy, who was more than happy to talk to me. And talk he did, until the bus finally creaked around the corner, looking ungainly and bouncing, rattling on the cobblestone road.

The man with the megaphone spoke, "Boys," he said, "Get on the bus. No pushing, no shoving. Every seat is to be filled. No one is sitting alone. Understand?"

We gave no answer, only surging forward, crushing towards the bus. Eventually we all got on and were seated. The man asked, "Is everyone here?"

The question seemed to require no answer, so the driver closed the doors and we creaked away. Noise flooded the bus immediately as the boys broke out into chatter. We drove for a few kilometres, and the former worry about the new school began to dissipate.

It wasn't until we exited the bus that the boy, Percival Wemys Madison of the Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, et cetera, put up his hand, waved it frantically, and said, "Where's ...?" He said a name but I couldn't make it out over the din. A frown of worry creased the megaphone man's face, and he began looking around anxiously.

I turned to Piggy, "Who's missing?" I asked him.

"The boy with the birthmark,"


	3. Godstone

**I'm terribly sorry for the delay. I really didn't think the end of the year was going to be as hectic as it was. Anywho, here we are, the third installment. I'm sorry if it's a little short, but I really wanted to update, and I figured a little was better than nothing.  
Thank you everyone who reviewed.  
Enjoy! =)**

The tumult that followed the boy's disappearance was not entirely kind-hearted worry about his whereabouts. Moreover, the boys relished the opportunity to talk freely; I cannot say that I was any different.

We were standing in an immense, impeccably landscaped courtyard, unlike any that I had ever seen. The palatial grounds lacked only exotic animals for it to have been truly one of a castle, but I didn't mind. I could certainly get used to such luxury. Now I'm not saying Upton was a dump, far from it, but the courtyard there was a fraction of the size, with only grass and a few ancient trees. But Godstone's courtyard was nothing in comparison to the school. I'll admit that I gaped a bit when I saw it. It was about as big as Buckingham Palace and almost as nice, with about a hundred turrets, huge windows and such intricate masonry that I'd never seen before. If the inside was half as nice, it would still be amazing.

Piggy seemed even more awed by the school than I was; his mouth hung open and I don't think he tore his eyes away once. Shortly, amidst the cacophony of unattended boys, a man in dark robes was seen exiting the school through giant oak doors and approaching our rowdy group. It took some minutes before he reached us though, that's how big the courtyard was.

"Boys," he said, with the slow, calm voice of someone used to being obeyed, "My name is Sir Bramson, the Headmaster, and I wish to welcome you to Godstone. I'm sorry that the circumstances of your arrival are so dire, nevertheless I hope you enjoy your stay here, and participate in our community as you would in your own,"

I could tell that most of the little'uns didn't quite understand what the Headmaster was saying, because they were looking at each other curiously and tittering, but the Headmaster ignored this.

"Please boys, follow me," he said, and began striding across the courtyard, black robes flowing nobly behind him.

We stood still for a moment, then surged forward behind him, talking in undertones and admiring the grounds. The Headmaster didn't tell us much of anything about the school, as I had been hoping he would, but he also didn't chastise us for the conversations that grew louder as we became more confident.

He led us through the immense doors and into a wide stone foyer. It was cold, and a bit draughty, but that did nothing to take away from the place. On the left wall was a large portrait of Archbishop Alexander Godstone, for whom the school was named, surrounded by smaller portraits of all former Headmasters, and one particularly fearsome-looking Headmistress. On the other wall were eight large wooden panels. The first four were a list of all winning Houses and their House leaders, since some time in the 1800s. The latter four were a list of head boys, prefects and House leaders, again dating to the 1800s.

There was something about the ancient grandeur of the school that left me feeling both awed and enamoured as the Headmaster led us down three wide steps, through a vast hallway of pictures – alumni, as I was to learn – up three steps, and into the Commons. The Commons was an immense room, most of which was taken up by long tables. At the front of the room were two slightly smaller tables set horizontally, facing the entrance, behind a raised stage and dais.

The Commons was empty, save for a few boys standing in a corner, talking quietly. With a sharp look in their direction, the Headmaster sent them away.

"Boys," He began, "Please sit down." We hesitated before sitting and turning fresh, expectant faces towards the dais, "Now, you know why you're here, and I know I don't have to reiterate the danger that lies in every corner. Just remember boys, loose lips sink ships, and we don't need any unnecessary accidents. But I'm sure you're all very good boys, aren't you?"

There was a mumbled, "Yes sir," and he continued,

"While you're here, we're going to do everything to make you feel at home. You'll have the opportunity to join any teams or clubs, provided you pass try-outs, and you'll each be assigned to a House. At Godstone there are eight houses, boys, and students are typically sorted into these houses in the first form, based upon their specific traits. The younger boys," he now seemed to speak directly to them, "Are all a part of the House of Orange. Boys all sleep in House-specific dormitories. Of course, there won't be enough time to sort you older boys into houses the typical way, so we will instead assign you to one of the eight houses. So," he moved from the dais to the centre of the stage, "I'm going to assign you each to a House alphabetically. House of Norman," he began listing names, "...and Rupert Bear. House of Plantagenet, John Cotton, Henry Coulter," I took the opportunity to admire the architecture, "House of Lancaster, Douglas Fairwater, James Franklin," I was particularly taken by the light fixtures "House of York, Lyndon Lloyd," There were fifteen wrought iron chandeliers suspended above the tables, "House of Tudor," Each chandelier had ten light bulbs shaped like a candle, "House of Stuart," Five light bulbs were burnt out, "House of Hanover," My name was called, and a time later, so was Piggy's. I knew because he nudged me and grinned, "And finally, the House of Windsor."

A sigh of relief rippled through the crowd of boys, and I was glad I hadn't been the only one to be incredibly bored with the ordeal.

"Now boys, we're going to be holding an assembly to welcome you to the school. The rest of the school will be filing into the Commons in a moment, so please, I would ask you all to be good audience members."

Rupert and I shared a questioning look as a number of boys, younger ones led by teachers, filled the hall from a number of different entrances. When the boys had seated themselves at the tables, with prefects sitting at one of the head tables and teachers at the other, a baker's dozen of boys in black robes entered the Commons, led by a tall redhead. They walked nobly to the stage, arranged themselves in four rows of three – the redhead stood directly in the centre – received a nod from the Headmaster, and began to sing. I know I was awed by the angelic sound that engulfed the Commons, and I'm certain the other boys were too.

They sang _Kyrie_, which I knew from church, and _Stabat Mater_, which sent shivers down my spine. They finished, and the Commons erupted in clapping. In the chaotic din that followed their performance, I saw the redhead wink at one of the boys seated near me. I didn't know who either of them were, but seeing it made me feel privy to something I wasn't supposed to be, and an uncomfortable knot twisted in my stomach.

The boys began filing off the stage, save for the redhead who took a place at the prefect's table. The rest of the assembly passed in a blur, and I found myself disturbingly preoccupied with what I had seen.

* * *

**Well, what do you think of that? I'm debating about introducing a wee bit of Jack/Someone. (it's a secret for now, unless you ask politely, then I'd tell you) So, s'il vous plait, tell me your opinions on such an idea. =)**


	4. Assimilation

**I'm a terrible person. It seems that the more time I have to write, the less time I spend, you know, _writing_. It's awful, I know. I'd promise to have the next chapter up sooner, but I think that would probably be a promise I wouldn't keep. I'm not going to stop though, even though my updates will be rather infrequent over the this and the next month, I shan't abandon this.  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, you rock. =)**

The Headmaster spoke for a time, and for the most part I tried to listen, but I couldn't keep my mind from wandering. I know I wasn't the only one that was distracted, I saw quite a few boys yawning and whispering. One boy near the back of the room was blowing spit balls. I knew because Piggy received one square on the back of his head. The sharp intake of breath and furious mutters as he wiped the soggy mess from his hair made the corners of my mouth twist in a cruel smirk. The smirk turned instantaneously to a scowl when Piggy turned to me and admonished their 'childishness'.

"Just like a pack of kids," he muttered darkly.

I nodded to appease him, and he took my scowl to be directed at their supposed immaturity. When he turned back to the Headmaster, drinking his words eagerly, I snickered. There was still wet paper stuck to the back of his head. Of course I wouldn't tell him. Rupert caught my eye and we shared a dark grin.

The spit ball, however, only gave temporary respite from the twisted train of thought my mind seemed destined to follow. The wink tormented me. _What did it mean?_ Certainly I'd been winked at before. Cousin Seamus winked at me – at everyone, really – all the time, and of course that meant nothing. Mr. Andrews had a penchant for winking at students, and I knew that was perfectly normal. So why was I so preoccupied with this one?

I didn't realize when we'd been dismissed. Piggy nudged me and hissed "Didn't you hear the Headmaster?"

I pretended I had and got up to follow him wherever it was we were going. I didn't dare ask, for fear of him admonishing me. That was the last thing I wanted.

We were lead through a series of corridors, through a courtyard and into the Hanover dormitories. The other house dormitories must have been situated in other parts of the campus, because I saw no others around. The dormitory looked rather like a big house, with the Hanover coat of arms was emblazoned on the door. The inside was warm and friendly looking.

"The dorm rooms are upstairs," an older boy told us in bored tones, pointing towards the stairs, "When you're not in class you can spend your time in our common room," he pointed to the right, where an archway revealed a large room furnished with a number of comfortable-looking chairs and a table, "All your things should be upstairs already. If anything's missing... I dunno, find the Headmaster or something. Now sod off,"

I followed Piggy upstairs and found our things. Thankfully, nothing was missing. By the time everyone had unpacked their necessities it was late evening. The unhappy prefect who had directed us upstairs earlier returned to fetch us for dinner.

"I'm taking you down to the dining room for dinner," he told us, "You have ten minutes to change," he turned to leave, but one of the boys asked,

"Change into what?" he added, "Um...sir." as an afterthought

"Your formal clothes," he said, "You wear your good clothes to dinner every night, understand?"

There was a murmur of assent and the sound of boys rummaging through their trunks for the uncomfortable clothes they had hoped they wouldn't have to wear. Piggy, having no uniform, had to make do with a plain starched shirt and pleated pants.

Dinner was a painfully formal affair. It seemed we were disallowed from speaking loudly, and we had to follow strict rules of etiquette. It was terribly uncomfortable, and the only respite came from one of the boys, Maurice, I found out he was called, taking on a ridiculously posh accent, putting his nose up and eating his meal with a pinkie perpetually suspended in the air.

"Do you have to dress formal for all your meals?" I asked the boy beside me.

He shook his head, "Just dinner, thank God," he said with a sour snort before returning to his meal.

The next day dawned overcast and humid, and walking through the courtyard to the main building I could hardly breathe the hot, heavy air. All the new boys had been given maps of the school so that we'd know where everything was. The school was ridiculously big with, I thought, too many rooms situated down narrow, nearly invisible corridors. There was no doubt the maps were beneficial, but I still found myself lost more than once.

As if things couldn't get any more confusing, I found that in addition to being separated into houses, we were also separated into groups of twenty, and these were the people we would have every class with. My first class at Godstone was when I was introduced to my 'class group'. I didn't know if there was a formal term for it, so I just made up my own.

At first, as we were being introduced, I didn't think much of my group. I had Piggy, that boy Maurice from dinner and a number of others. Piggy sat obsequiously close to me and was whispering about lord knows what, which was why I hardly noticed when two boys rushed into the room, flushed, out of breath and grinning.

I looked up when Father Brannigan addressed the boys in his strange Irish lilt, "Jack, Roger, tell me, do you have a reason for being late?"

My heart nearly stopped; it was the redheaded singer and the boy he'd winked at. Their responses were drowned by my thoughts.

"... Lord does not like it when you lie, Mr. Merridew. Sit down," he directed this at the boy Roger, who was now looking dark, "Mr. Merridew, you will join me for detention tonight. Sit down. No, not there!" Father Brannigan snapped as he moved to sit beside Roger. Jack rolled his eyes and sat himself beside me.

When Father Brannigan had turned his back, Jack began, "I'm Jack," he seemed to puff out his chest, "Chapter chorister and Head Boy. Who are you?"

I couldn't deny that I was rather awed by him, but I tried not to show it. I didn't want to come off like Piggy, "I'm... Ralph, I dunno," I told him with a slight chuckle. He seemed to find this an acceptable answer, though I was mortified by it.

"Brannigan's got a real temper," he told me, then opened his notebook and began to write.

I followed his example, copying everything from the chalkboard, but if anyone asked, I couldn't have said if we were learning English or Astronomy. My mind was once again consumed with doubt. And who was I to tell? Everyone would think me batty if I told them what I was thinking. But it wasn't crazy of me.

Was it?

* * *

**So tell me, how was it?**


	5. Letters

**I'm terribly sorry it took so damn long for me to update (more than a month!) and I'm also sorry about the less than optimal length of this chapter. But I figured a short update would be better than none at all.**

**On another note, I know that the 'official' religion in England is Anglican, but I've made Godstone Catholic because: 1. Jack, with his red hair, is probably Irish, and the Irish are typically Catholic and 2. I don't know shit about Anglican schools. I'm sorry if you were confused by the Catholic-y ness of an English school.**

**And on a similar note, I'm neither advocating nor discouraging Catholicism. The views expressed are not meant to offend, blah blah blah...**

* * *

Both Piggy and I got letters at the end of our first week at Godstone. Piggy's was from his aunt. She sent him a package of cookies, and I heard some of the boys snickering about it in the dormitories that night.

"_As if he need _more_ food!_" they hissed under their breath. I silently agreed with them, but I didn't voice my assent, for fear that Piggy would hear and retract his offer to share them with me.

The letter I received came with no package of sweets. It was from mother, assuring me that all was well back home, and that Upton would be restored in six months time. It also included a troubling paragraph about her wishes that I try out for teams and clubs during my time at Godstone. I wasn't particularly keen on the idea.

I shared my letter with Piggy, and he seemed to agree with my mother, telling me that he would be trying out for the choir, and that I should join him. I began to protest, but it was no use. He was adamant, so I consented.

That night, I realized that perhaps being a part of the choir wouldn't be too bad. Although I would never tell anyone, the idea of being a part of Jack's choir held a certain appeal that sent unexplained thrills through my body.

Monday morning was rainy and cold, and I met the Headmaster in the halls between English and History.

"How are you enjoying your time at Godstone, son?" His deep voice shook my bones.

"Very well, thank you Sir." I replied politely.

He nodded and patted my shoulder, "Very good. Off to class now." He sent me on my way with another pat on the shoulder that nearly buckled my knees.

I sat beside Maurice in History. I didn't know him very well, but he seemed like the nicest of the boys. While Father McKay was talking about some war, I leaned over to him.

"Maurice?" I breathed

"Yeah?" he murmured back.

I braced myself for a sneer before saying, "I'm thinking of trying out for the choir."

He turned to face me. I was expecting a look of disbelief, or worse, disgust, not a grin. But he was grinning at me as he said, "Brilliant!"

"Really?"

"'Course." There was a brief pause, then, "You _can_ sing, right?"

I grinned back at him, "I hope so."

History was as boring as usual, and the rain splattering the windows was disheartening, but the thought of my choir audition buoyed me, and I managed to be happy in spite of the weather and Father McKay's droning voice.

We had a break after History, and I sought Rupert in the commons, but I found Piggy instead. He smiled at me and proffered one of his cookies. I wasn't sure where it had come from, since the box was nowhere to be seen, but I accepted the treat nonetheless.

"Ralph?"

"Mmm?" My mouth full of cookie, I couldn't respond very well.

"I talked to Merridew. You know, Jack Merridew, the Head Boy. The redhead in the choir." It seemed ridiculous that Piggy had to do so much explaining, but I didn't stop him. For one thing, my mouth was full of cookie. And even if it weren't, I was too excited to trust myself with words.

"He's not very nice. He called me '_fatty_'. Isn't that awful, Ralph?" I nodded to appease him, hoping that once he got his sympathy he'd get to the point.

"Terrible." I told him.

He agreed fervently before continuing, "But he said that we could try out for the choir on Wednesday. We have to do a sight passage and a one minute excerpt from any classical song we like in front of the whole choir."

I began nodding, then stopped, realizing, "_We?_ Did you tell him I was trying out too?"

"Of course." My stomach sank. Now he'd think I was _friends_ with _Piggy._ "Your mother told you to try out for something, and I entirely agree with her. We _talked_ about this, Ralph. You're not changing your mind, are you?" He whined.

I couldn't very well voice my problem, so instead I said, "I know, I know," too bitterly than Piggy deserved. But I was in no mood to be sympathetic.

"I'll see you later, then." I told him, clipped voice, unreasonably annoyed. The hurt in his eyes as I walked away only served to annoy me further. In my mind, he had no right to be upset.

Wednesday came much too soon. I had had hardly any time to practice, and that, coupled with my intense desire to prove myself to Jack made me more nervous than I would have liked to admit.

Every class seemed to take an eternity to end. I couldn't concentrate. Half my mind was consumed with fear, while the other half seemed determined to linger on 'the wink'. I tried my damndest to pay attention, though, because above all, I didn't want to be called out for daydreaming, especially in Father Brannigan's class – he had a habit of punishing students by making them kneel in the back corner on stale kernels of corn until class ended.

Lunch was a painful experience. My nerves made it impossible to swallow my food, but I didn't want anyone getting suspicious, so I ate. I ate everything on my plate, and I felt so sick afterwards that I was afraid I'd have to rush to the bathroom.

As slow as every class seemed, I was surprised by how quickly the end of the day came, and with it, the audition. Berating myself silently as I walked down the suspiciously empty halls towards the music room, I attempted to calm down. As nervous as I was, I'd never be able to sing well.

_Deep breaths, Ralph, deep breaths._

But good as my advice was, I could only just follow it. Arriving outside the door to the music room, I realised that I hadn't seen Piggy since dinner, nearly an hour ago. As much as I didn't want to go in with Piggy, I was terrified of entering alone. Piggy, as much as I hated to admit it, would have been able to talk some sense into me.

With one final deep breath, I put my hand on the doorknob and entered the room.

* * *

**So tell me, was it worth the more-than-a-month wait? (Again, sorry!)**


	6. Audition

**Well, yes. This certainly took a while, didn't it? I'm terribly sorry for the wait, but hopefully the next chapter will come quicker.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

My teeth were clenched tight and my hands were sweaty, but I tried by best to look cool and collected – the way Jack had when he'd sung on the first day. If I was lucky, some of the outward calm I tried to show might seep in.

It didn't.

I was so focused on trying to look at least somewhat normal that it wasn't until Jack's strong voice cut the room in two that I truly saw where I was.

The room itself was much like most others – big, antiquated and smelling slightly of mould and old books. But the contents were vastly different. An organ, dusty and grand, stood in a shadowy corner; there were no desks, only music stands that would undoubtedly be moved from their current haunt along the wall to stand in front of students. But most strange were the windows – eerily dark stained glass depictions of the more gruesome bits of the Bible cast strange shadows through the room.

But none of these things were foremost as I took in the area. What I noticed instead were the black-robed boys sitting in their lines in a semi-circle, with Jack standing dominant at the centre – gold cross mockingly bright on his chest.

"And you are…" He had a sheet of paper in front of him, but I was thrilled that he didn't look, "Ralph?"

I nodded mutely.

"Mm-hm." He ticked something off on the sheet. "And you'll be singing…?"

_Deep breaths, Ralph! _"_The Shepherd_ by –"

"Yes, I know." He said, a bit impatiently. "Your voice hasn't broken yet?" I shook my head. He then stepped forwards and handed me a leaf of paper, "This is your sight reading. Take a minute to look it over. When you're ready."

I looked down at it. It was a song I'd never heard of, but it didn't look too difficult. A little over a minute later, I looked up at them and nodded weakly.

Jack gave one definitive inclination of his head, which I took to mean 'begin' and so I opened my mouth and began.

I didn't think I did very badly, in fact, I was almost proud of my performance, though Jack's cold, appraising eyes rather shattered my hopes. But Maurice, who was sitting a bit to the right, grinned a bit and gave me a covert 'thumbs up'. That little gesture did more for my nerves than I was comfortable admitting, and I managed to get through _The Shepherd_ without much hitch.

Finished, I stood awkwardly by, wringing my hands together unconsciously. Jack, perhaps to revel in my discomfort – it didn't strike me as unlikely – took a moment of silence before he spoke.

"We'll –" He began, but was cut off by a quiet _thump_.

One of the boys in the front row, a scrawny, pale thing with black hair, had flopped over in a dead faint. I was startled, and rather concerned. But no one else seemed to be particularly phased. Jack half turned to face the choir and said quietly and, I noticed, icily, "Well? Move him away and revive him already."

There was a brief scuttling and flapping of feet and robes, but Jack didn't watch any of it, he turned back to me and continued. "We'll contact you if we feel you meet our standards. Choir practice is every Thursday evening from five 'til seven." I was momentarily distracted by the boy who'd fainted – he'd sat up and moved back to his seat. "Perhaps we'll see you then. You may go."

I mumbled a quiet "thank you" and left. As I closed the door, I heard Jack's voice, muffled by the door but still obviously loud.

"You idiot! What the hell is wrong with you? Just fainting like that in the middle of auditions! What the hell do you think this is? Faint somewhere else, Cambourne. I don't know _why_ we keep you in this choir. You ought to join something else. It's not like you're even all that good at singing anyway –"

"Merridew –" A reasoning voice cut in.

"Don't _you_ start now, Walsh." He snapped, "I saw what you did back there." He made a disparaging noise, and I, with ice in my stomach, moved away. Jack's voice followed me halfway down the hall, until it was no longer audible.

Hearing his outburst at the fainting boy, 'Cambourne', and Maurice – whose only crime, it seemed, was interrupting – made me wonder whether I really wanted to be a part of his choir anymore. But what was I supposed to do? If I made it, then I'd really have no choice. Half of me almost wished that I didn't. Almost.

I saw Piggy in the dormitory common room that night. He was sitting on a chair, absorbed in a science book – for school or pleasure, I wasn't sure – and eating the cookies his aunt had sent.

"Hey," I said, sitting in a chair nearby. It was late enough that only the older students were around, and it was okay if they saw me with Piggy. "How'd the auditions go?"

He closed the book and beamed at me. "Oh really well, I think, Ralph! What about yours?"

I shrugged and briefly recounted my audition, leaving out the fainting boy and what I'd heard after I'd left.

"That's good!" He said, "Maybe we'll both get in. Wouldn't that be great, Ralph?"

I made a noise that could have been taken as either yes or no, but Piggy seemed to think this was an acceptable answer and said no more of it.

The results of our auditions came only two days later at lunch. I was sitting between Piggy and Rupert when Maurice, red in the face and a bit out of breath, appeared between myself and Piggy.

"Hey," He said breathily, "Jack wants to see you now."

He could have been speaking to either me or Piggy – or even to both of us – and it seemed that he realized this too, and rectified the situation by poking Piggy in the shoulder as he rose and saying "Not you."

I went numb.

"Come with me." Maurice continued, jerking his head lazily to indicate I ought to follow him.

I got up to follow him; not looking back, even though I knew Piggy would be watching and waiting for me to do just that.

* * *

**Well, what d'you think of this? Poor Ralph is so conflicted... and Jack is a bit of an asshole, isn't he?**


End file.
